Kitabı oku: «This Man's Wife», sayfa 24
Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen.
Communing with Self
It was evening when Bayle went on deck again, his old calm having returned. He stopped short, and the elasticity of spirit that seemed to have come back – a feeling of hopefulness in keeping with the light champagny atmosphere, so full of life, died out again, even as the breeze that had wafted them on all day had now almost failed, and the ship glided very slowly through water that looked like liquid gold.
“A few short hours,” he said to himself, as he gazed at Mrs Hallam standing with her arm round Julia, bathed in the evening light, watching the golden clouds upon the horizon that they were told were land – to them the land of hope and joy, but to Christie Bayle a place of sorrow and of pain.
“A few short hours,” he said again, “and then the fond illusions must fall away, and they will be face to face with the truth.”
He crept away sick at heart to the other side, where Lieutenant Eaton, who seemed to be hovering about mother and daughter, eager to join them but kept away by respect for their desire to be alone, passed him with a short nod, hesitated, as if about to speak, and then went on again.
Bayle waited hour after hour, ready should those in his charge require his services; but they did not move from their position, and it was Eaton who intercepted Thisbe, and took from her the scarves she was bringing to protect them from the night air; but only a few words passed, and he drew back to walk up and down till long after the Southern Cross was standing out among the glorious stars that looked so large and bright in the clear, dark sky above, when Mrs Hallam drew a deep breath and whispered a few words to Julia, and they descended to their cabin for the night, but not to sleep.
Then by degrees the deck was left to the watch, and a strange silence fell, for a change had come upon all on board. The first excitement that followed the look-out-man’s cry of “Land ho!” had passed, and passengers and soldiers were gathered in groups after their busy preparation for the landing another day distant, and talked in whispers.
Lower and lower sank the weary spirit of Christie Bayle, as he stood leaning on the bulwark, gazing away into the starry depths of the glorious night, for it seemed to him that his task was nearly done, that soon those whom he had loved so well would pass out of his care, and as he thought of Millicent Hallam sharing the home of her convict husband he murmured a prayer on her behalf. Then his thoughts of the mother passed, and he recalled all that he had seen during the past months, above all, Julia’s excited manner that day, and the conduct of Lieutenant Eaton. And as he pondered his thoughts took somewhat this form:
“Young, handsome, a thorough gentleman, what wonder that he should win her young love? but will he stand the test? A convict’s daughter – an officer of the King. He must know; and if he does stand the test – ”
Christie Bayle stood with his hands clasped tightly together, as once more a strange agony of soul pierced him to the core. He saw himself again the young curate entranced by the beauty of a fair young English girl in her happy home, declaring his love for her, laying bare his hopes, and learning the bitter lesson that those hopes were vain. He saw again the long years of peaceful friendship with a new love growing for the child who had been his principal waking thought. He saw her grow to womanhood, loving him as he had loved her – with a love that had been such as a father might bear his child, till the peaceful calm had been broken as he saw that Julia listened eagerly and with brightening eyes to the words of this young officer; and now it was that like a blow the knowledge came, the knowledge that beneath all this tenderness had been a love of a stronger nature, ready to burst forth and bloom when it was again too late.
“A dream – a dream,” he said sadly. “How could she love me otherwise than as she said – as her dear teacher?”
“A dream,” he said again. ”‘Thy will be done!’”
Volume Three – Chapter Eighteen.
“At Last!”
A busy day on ship-board, with the excitement growing fast, and officers and men cheerfully turning themselves into guides and describers of the scenery on either hand.
A glorious day, with a brisk breeze, and the white sails curving out, and the great vessel, that had borne them safely to their destination, careening gently over, with the white foam dividing and swelling away to starboard and to port.
The sky overhead might have been that of Italy, so gloriously bright and pure it seemed to all, as at last the vessel glided in between the guardian giants of the port, and then, as they stood well within the two grey rocky precipices, the swell upon which they had softly swayed died away, the breeze sank, and the great white sails flapped and filled and flapped, the ship slowly slackened its speed, and at last lay motionless, waiting for the tide that would bear them on to the anchorage within.
It was evening when the tantalising waiting was at an end, and the expectant groups saw themselves once more gliding on and on, past a long beach of white sand, into the estuary that, minute by minute, took more and more the aspect of some widening river.
Seen by the glory of the sinking sun, and after the long, monotonous voyage, it was like some glimpse of Eden, and with one consent the soldiers sent forth a hearty cheer, which died away into silence as the great ship glided on. Jutting promontories, emerald islands, golden waters, and a sky like topaz, as the sun slowly sank. Curving bays filled with roseate hues reflected from the sky, swelling hills in the distance of wondrous greyish green, with deepening slopes of softly darkening shadows. The harbour was without a ripple, and glistened as polished metal, and mirrored here and there the shore. Away in the distance, the soft greyish verdure stood out in the clear air; and as the wearied travellers drank in the glorious scene, there was a solemnity in its beauty that oppressed them, even unto tears.
Millicent Hallam stood in that self-same spot where she had so patiently watched for this her promised land, and as she bent forward with half-extended hands, Julia saw her lips part, and heard from time to time some broken utterances, as the tears of joy fell slowly from her dreamy eyes.
Time after time the most intimate of their fellow-passengers approached, but there was that in the attitude of mother and daughter which commanded respect, and they drew away.
On glided the ship, nearer and nearer, with the houses and rough buildings of the settlement slowly coming into sight, while, as the sun flashed from the windows, and turned the sand that fringed the shore for the time to tawny gold, the hearts of mother and daughter seemed to go out, to leap the intervening distance, and pour forth their longings to him who, they felt, was watching the ship that bore to him all he held dear.
Golden changing to orange, to amber, to ruddy wine. Then one deep glow, and the river-like harbour for a few minutes as if of molten metal cooling into purple, into black, and then the placid surface glistening with fallen stars.
And as Julia pressed nearer to the trusting woman, who gazed straight before her at the lights that twinkled in the scattered houses of the port, she heard a sweet, rich voice murmur softly:
“Robert, husband – I have come!” And again, soft as the murmur of the tide upon the shore:
“My God, I thank thee! At last – at last!”
Volume Three – Chapter Nineteen.
A Strange Encounter
It had been hard work to persuade her, but Mrs Hallam had consented at last to rest quietly in the embryo hotel, while Bayle obtained the necessary passes for her and her daughter to see Hallam. This done, he took the papers and letters of recommendation he had brought and waited upon the governor.
There was a good deal of business going on, and Bayle was shown into a side room where a clerk was writing, and asked to sit down.
“Your turn will come in about an hour,” said the official who showed him in, and Bayle sat down to wait.
As he looked up, he saw that the clerk was watching him intently; and as their eyes met, he said in a low voice:
“May I ask if you came out in the Sea King?”
“Yes; I landed this morning.”
“Any good news, sir, from the old country?”
“Nothing particular; but I can let you have a paper or two, if you like.”
“Thank you, sir, I should be very glad; but I meant Ireland. You thought I meant England.”
“But you are not an Irishman?”
“Yes, sir. Have I forgotten my brogue?”
“I did not detect it.”
“Perhaps I’ve forgotten it,” said the man sadly, “as they seem to have forgotten me. Ten years make a good deal of difference.”
“Have you been out here ten years?”
“Yes, sir, more.”
“Do you know anything about the prisons?”
The clerk flushed, and then laughed bitterly.
“Oh, yes,” he said; “I know something about them.”
“And the prisoners?”
“Ye-es. Bah! what is the use of keeping it back? Of course I do, sir. I was sent out for the benefit of my country.”
“You?”
“Yes, sir; I am a lifer.”
Bayle gazed at the man in surprise.
“You look puzzled, sir,” he said. “Why, almost every other man out here is a convict.”
“But you have been pardoned?”
“Pardoned? No; I am only an assigned servant I can be sent back to the chain-gang at any time if I give offence. There, for heaven’s sake, sir, don’t look at me like that! If I offended against the laws, I have been bitterly punished.”
“You mistake my looks,” said Bayle gently; “they did not express my feelings to you, for they were those of sorrow.”
“Sorrow?” said the man, who spoke as if he were making a great effort to keep down his feelings. “Ay, sir, you would say that if you knew all I had endured. It has been enough to make a man into a fiend, herding with the wretches sent out here, and at any moment, at the caprice of some brutal warder or other official ordered the lash.”
Bayle drew his breath between his teeth hard.
“There, I beg your pardon, sir; but the sight of a face from over the sea, and a gentle word, sets all the old pangs stinging again. I’m better treated now. This governor is a very different man to the last.”
“Perhaps you may get a full pardon yet,” said Bayle; “your conduct has evidently been good.”
“No. There will be no pardon for me, sir. I was too great a criminal.”
“What – But I have no right to ask you,” said Bayle.
“Yes, ask me, sir. My offence? Well, like a number of other hot-headed young men, I thought to make myself a patriot and free Ireland. That was my crime.”
“Tell me,” said Bayle, after a time, “did you ever encounter a prisoner named Hallam?”
“Robert Hallam – tall, dark, handsome man?”
“Yes; that answers the description.”
“Sent over with a man named Crellock, for a bank robbery, was it not?”
“The same man. Where is he now?”
“He was up the country as a convict servant, shepherding; but I think he is back in the gangs again. Some of them are busy on the new road.”
“Was he – supposed to be innocent out here?”
“Innocent? No. It was having to herd with such scoundrels made our fate the more bitter. Such men as he and his mate – ”
“His mate?”
“Yes – the man Crellock – were never supposed to be very – ”
He ceased speaking, and began to write quickly, for a door was opened, and an attendant requested Bayle to follow him.
He was ushered into the presence of an officer, who apologised for the governor being deeply engaged, consequent upon the arrival of the ship with the draft of men. But the necessary passes were furnished, and Bayle left.
As he was passing out with the documents in his hand he came suddenly upon Captain Otway and the Lieutenant, both in uniform.
The Captain nodded in a friendly way and passed on; but Eaton stopped.
“One moment, Mr Bayle,” he said rather huskily. “I want you to answer a question.”
Bayle bowed, and then met his eyes calmly, and without a line in his countenance to betoken agitation.
“I – I want you to tell me – in confidence, Mr Bayle – why Mrs Hallam and her daughter have come out here?”
“I am not at liberty, Lieutenant Eaton, to explain to a stranger Mrs Hallam’s private affairs.”
“Then will you tell me this? Why have you come here to-day? But I can see. Those are passes to allow you to go beyond the convict lines?”
“They are,” said Bayle.
“That will do, sir,” said the young man with his lip quivering; and hurrying on he rejoined Captain Otway, who was standing awaiting his coming in the doorway, in front of which a sentry was passing up and down.
Bayle went back to the hotel, where Mrs Hallam was watching impatiently, and Julia with her, both dressed for going out.
“You have been so long,” cried the former; “but tell me – you have the passes?”
“Yes; they are here,” he said.
“Give them to me,” she cried, with feverish haste. “Come, Julia.”
“You cannot go alone, Mrs Hallam,” said Bayle in a remonstrant tone. “Try and restrain yourself. Then we will go on at once.”
She looked at him half angrily; but the look turned to one of appeal as she moved towards the door.
“But are you quite prepared?” he whispered. “Do you still hold to the intention of taking Julia?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried fiercely. “Christie Bayle, you cannot feel with me. Do you not realise that it is the husband and father waiting to see his wife and child?”
Bayle said no more then, but walked with them through the roughly marked out streets of the straggling port, towards the convict lines.
“I shall see you to the gates,” he said, “secure your admission, and then await your return.”
Mrs Hallam pressed his hand, and then as he glanced at Julia, he saw that she was trembling and deadly pale. The next minute, however, she had mastered her emotion, and they walked quickly on, Mrs Hallam with her head erect, and proud of mien, as she seemed in every movement to be wishing to impress upon her child that they should rather glory in their visit than feel shame. There was something almost triumphant in the look she directed at Bayle, a look which changed to angry reproach, as she saw his wrinkled brow and the trouble in his face.
Half-way to the prison gates there was a measured tramp of feet, and a quick, short order was given in familiar tones.
The next moment the head of a company of men came into sight; and Bayle recognised the faces. In the rear were Captain Otway and Lieutenant Eaton, both of whom saluted, Mrs Hallam acknowledging each bow with the dignity of a queen.
Bayle tried hard, but he could not help glancing at Julia, to see that she was deadly pale, but looking as erect and proud as her mother.
Captain Otway’s company were on their way to their barracks. They had just passed the prison gates; and it was next to impossible for Mrs Hallam and her daughter to be going anywhere but to the large building devoted to the convicts.
Bayle knew that the two officers must feel this as they saluted; and, in spite of himself, he could not forbear feeling a kind of gratification. For it seemed to him that henceforth a gulf would be placed between them, and the pleasant friendship of the voyage be at an end.
Mrs Hallam knew it, but she did not shrink, and her heart bounded as she saw the calm demeanour of her child.
The measured tramp of the soldiers’ feet was still heard, when a fresh party of men came into sight; and as he partly realised what was before him, Bayle stretched out his hand to arrest his companions.
“Come back,” he said quickly; “we will go on after these men have passed.”
“No,” said Mrs Hallam firmly, “we will go on now, Christie Bayle, do you fancy that we would shrink from anything at a time like this?”
“But for her sake,” whispered Bayle.
“She is my child, and we know our duty,” retorted Mrs Hallam proudly.
But her face was paler, and she darted a quick glance at Julia, whose eyes dilated, and whose grasp of her mother’s arm was closer, as from out of the advancing group came every now and then a shriek of pain, with sharp cries, yells, and a fierce volley of savage curses.
The party consisted of an old sergeant and three pensioners with fixed bayonets, one leading, two behind a party of eight men, in grotesque rough garments. Four of them walked in front, following the first guard, and behind them the other four carried a litter or stretcher, upon which, raised on a level with their shoulders, they bore a man, who was writhing in acute pain, and now cursing his bearers for going so fast, now directing his oaths against the authorities.
“It’ll be your turn next,” he yelled, as he threw an arm over the side of the stretcher. “Can’t you go slow? Ah, the cowards – the cowards!”
Here the man rolled out a fierce volley of imprecations, his voice sounding hoarse and strange; but his bearers, morose, pallid-looking men, with a savage, downcast look, paid no heed, tramping on, and the guard of pensioners taking it all as a matter of course.
At a glance the difference between them was most marked.
The pensioner guard had a smart, independent air, there, was an easy-going, cheery look in their brown faces; while in those of the men they guarded, and upon whom they would have been called to fire if there were an attempt to escape, there were deeply stamped in the hollow cheek, sunken eye, and graven lines, crime, misery, and degradation, and that savage recklessness that seems to lower man to a degree far beneath the beast of the jungle or wild. The closely-cropped hair, the shorn chins with the stubble of several days’ growth, and the fierce glare of the convicts’ overshadowed eyes as they caught sight of the two well-dressed ladies, sent a thrill through Bayle’s breast, and he would gladly have even now forced his companions to retreat, but it was impossible. For as they came up, the ruffian on the stretcher to which he was strapped, uttered an agonising cry of pain, and then yelled out the one word, “Water!”
Julia uttered a low sobbing cry, and, before Bayle or Mrs Hallam could realise her act, she had started forward and laid her hand upon the old sergeant’s arm, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried:
“Oh, sir, do you not hear him? Is there no water here?”
“Halt!” shouted the sergeant; and with military precision the cortège stopped. “Set him down, lads.” The convicts gave a half-turn and lowered the handles of the stretcher, retaining them for a moment, and then, in the same automatic way, placed their burden on the dusty earth. It was quickly and smoothly done, in silence, but the movement seemed to cause the man intense pain, and he writhed and cursed horribly at his bearers, ending by asking again for water.
“It isn’t far to the hospital, miss,” said the sergeant; “and he has had some once. Here, Jones, give me your canteen.”
One of the guard unslung his water-tin and handed it to Julia, who seized it eagerly, while the sergeant turned to Bayle and said in a quick whisper:
“Hadn’t you better get the ladies away, sir?”
By this time Julia was on her knees by the side of the stretcher, holding the canteen to the lips of the wretched man, who drank with avidity, rolling his starting eyes from side to side.
“Has there been a battle?” whispered Julia to the pensioner who had handed her the water-tin. “He is dreadfully wounded, is he not? Will he die?”
Julia’s quickly following questions were heard by the eight convicts, who were looking on with heavy, brutal curiosity, but not one glanced at his companions.
“Bless your heart, no, miss. A few days in horspital will put him right,” said the man, smiling.
“How can you be so cruel?” panted the girl indignantly. “Suppose you were lying there?”
“Well, I hope, miss,” said the man good-humouredly, “that if I had been blackguard enough to have my back scratched, I should not be such a cur as to howl like that.”
“Julia, my child, come away,” whispered Bayle, taking her hand and, trying to raise her as the sergeant looked on good-humouredly. “The man has been flogged for some offence. This is no place for you.”
“Hush!” she cried, as, drawing away her hand, she bent over the wretched man and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his forehead.
He ceased his restless writhing and gazed up at the sweet face bending over him with a look of wonder. Then his eyes dilated, and his lips parted. The next moment he had turned his eyes upon Mrs Hallam, who was bending over her child half-trying to raise her, but with a horrible fascination in her gaze, while a curious silence seemed to have fallen on the group – so curious, that when one of the convicts moved slightly, the clank of a ring he wore sounded strangely loud in the hot sunshine.
“By your leave, miss,” said the sergeant, not unkindly. “I daren’t stop. Fall in, my lads! Stretchers! Forward!”
As the man, who was perfectly silent now, was raised by the convicts to the level of their shoulders, he wrenched his head round that he might turn his distorted features, purple with their deep flush, and continue his wondering stare at Julia and Mrs Hallam.
Then the tramp and clank, tramp and clank went on, the guard raising each a hand to his forehead, and smiling at the group they left, while the old sergeant took off his cap, the sun shining down on a good manly English face, as he took a step towards Julia.
“I beg pardon, miss,” he said; “I’m only a rough old pensioner – but if you’d let me kiss your hand.”
Julia smiled in the sergeant’s brown face as she laid her white little hand in his, and he raised it with rugged reverence to his lips.
Then, saluting Mrs Hallam, he turned quickly to Bayle:
“I did say, sir, as this place was just about like – you know what; but I see we’ve got angels even here.”
He went off at the double after his men, twenty paces ahead, while Bayle, warned by Julia, had just time to catch Mrs Hallam as she reeled, and would have fallen.
“Mother, dear mother!” cried Julia. “This scene was too terrible for you.”
“No, no! I am better now,” said Mrs Hallam hoarsely. “Let us go on. Did you see?” she whispered, turning to Bayle.
“See?” he said reproachfully. “Yes; but I tried so hard to spare you this scene.”
“Yes; but it was to be,” she said in the same hoarse whisper, as, with one hand she held Julia from her, and spoke almost in her companion’s ear. “You did not know him,” she said. “I did; at once.”
“That man?”
“Yes.”
Then, after a painful pause, she added:
“It was Stephen Crellock.”
“Her husband’s associate and friend,” said Bayle, as he stood outside the prison gates waiting; for, after the presentation of the proper forms, Millicent Hallam and her child had been admitted by special permission to see the prisoner named upon their pass, and Christie Bayle remained without, seeing in imagination the meeting between husband, wife, and child, and as he waited, seated on a block of stone, his head went down upon his hands, and his spirit sank very low, for all was dark upon the life-path now ahead.
